


Heart || Strange the Dreamer

by Lucifers_Left_Lung



Category: Strange the Dreamer (novel)
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifers_Left_Lung/pseuds/Lucifers_Left_Lung
Summary: Strange and Thyon have always had a complicated relationship - the golden boy and the boy with no name. But when one of them can't hide their true feelings any longer, they'll realize that all they really need is one another.©2017//Lucifers-Left-Lung





	Heart || Strange the Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this work contains talk of suicide.

Thyon Nero slammed his fist down on the rickety wooden table in front of him. Had he had more strength, it might have broken then and there, scattering his notes and shattering his beakers around his feet. As it were, Thyon Nero _didn't_ have more strength. In fact, he was quite certain he hardly even had any spirit left, let alone strength. Thyon's reflection in the glass of the beakers showed him a man who was slowly killing himself. Dark circles under his eyes, both from lack of sleep and loss of spirit; the pallor of his skin was now a gray color, almost as if he were dead already. 

Thyon looked away, unable to keep his gaze on the image reflected back at him any longer. He couldn't allow himself to focus on anything but finding something to rid Weep of those blasted anchors. He was Thyon Nero, after all. If he couldn't find a solution, then who could? If he were being totally honest with himself, it wasn't only the prospect of failure that terrified Thyon, but his father. More specifically, his father's wrath. Thyon had been on the receiving end of his father's anger countless times. He was no stranger to the man's abuse. Even now, far away as his father was, Thyon could hear his voice in his head, telling him how much of a failure he was, how disappointed he was. Even now, Thyon could feel the bruises that would be left when his father was finished with him. 

Swallowing the emotion that had suddenly sprang upon him, Thyon reached for the syringe once again. When would he finally take all of his spirit? Which vial would be the last? He'd heard of those who had no spirit―they often didn't last long. It wasn't that one _couldn't_ live without their spirit, it was that without one's spirit, they didn't have the _will_ to live any longer. Thyon barely had the will to live as it was.

Just before Thyon could poke the needle into his skin, there was a knock at his door. "I'm not hungry," he called out, assuming the person on the other side of the door was there to bring him his evening meal.

"I'm not here to feed you," Lazlo Strange replied. 

Thyon Nero pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Lazlo was the last person Thyon wanted to see. For whatever reason, Lazlo Strange had this annoying habit of trying to take care of Thyon. He'd done it on multiple occasions. Thyon supposed he was meant to be grateful for Lazlo Strange―and he was―but Thyon could hardly bear to be around Lazlo, let alone think about showing him his gratitude.

When it came to Lazlo, Thyon couldn't control the feeling in his chest, the stuttering of his heartbeat and the slight trembling of his hands. It was unexplainable and he feared that Lazlo would question it. Lazo was always asking questions, most of which Thyon had the answers to. But not this. He couldn't explain to Lazlo that his mere presence made Thyon's stomach flutter as if there were a thousand butterflies trying to escape him. He couldn't explain to Lazlo that his crooked nose had always made Thyon want to smile, the imperfectness of it a welcome change to his own supposedly flawless features. 

But most of all, Thyon Nero couldn't explain to Lazlo Strange that he cared for him. Loved him, even.

"Go away," Thyon called through the door, knowing fully well that Lazlo wouldn't listen to him. Instead, he heard the door try to be opened, his three locks keeping it in place.

Lazlo's sigh was heard through the door. "I came to check on you, Thyon," he said. Was that worry in his voice? "I heard you haven't been eating. You haven't left that room in two days."

"I'm fine," Thyon lied, his eyes flickering to the syringe still in his hand. "Please, go away."

Lazlo hesitated; Thyon waited to hear his footsteps walking away. Lazlo was standing outside the door, his hands on his hips as he tried to think of a way to get Thyon to open the door. He was as stubborn as they came, and Lazlo was certain that he was the last person that Thyon wanted to see. Thyon had never liked him much. Be that as it may, Lazlo wasn't leaving until he saw that Thyon was okay. 

"I'm not leaving." Lazlo knew that Thyon was likely to take this as a threat, which was fine by him, so long as Thyon opened the door.

A few seconds later, Lazlo was pleased to hear Thyon's footsteps approaching the door, then to see it swing open. He wasn't, however, pleased to see the man standing on the other side. Thyon looked like he was going to keel over at any moment. His skin was ashen, the dark half-moons under his eyes a sign that Thyon hadn't been sleeping, as Lazlo had suspected.

"What happened to you?" Lazlo asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Gone was the golden boy that Lazlo had known back in Zosma. Gone was the beautiful man who had unwittingly stolen so many hearts―Lazlo's included―and broken just as many. Truth be told, Lazlo had yet to admit to himself just how he felt about Thyon Nero. Years of bitterness and cruel jabs could do that to a person. But standing in that doorway, staring at a prince who had been so breathtakingly beautiful just a few days before, a prince who now looked to be on the brink of death, Lazlo couldn't deny his feelings any longer. The fear of losing Thyon Nero, of the _world_ losing Thyon Nero, was just too much. How could he exist in a world where the golden boy didn't? It was implausible. It was impossible.

Thyon sneered, something so totally normal for him, but also so wrong with the current state of his health. He should be resting, not sneering. Thyon shook his head at Lazlo, regretting having opened the door at all. "Nothing happened to me, Strange," Thyon said. "I'm fine. Now, go away."

Lazlo ignored Thyon and pushed his way into the room. Other than Thyon, Lazlo was the only person in the world who knew what Thyon was doing in this crematorium. But still, it was alarming when Thyon didn't put up more of a fight. He really was sick.

Eyes skimming over the contents of the table, Lazlo's gaze finally landed on the syringe. He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he thought of just what Thyon had been doing for the past two days. Hadn't he taken a break at all? Couldn't he see that he was killing himself? Or did he just not care?

Slowly, Lazlo brought his eyes up to meet Thyon's. The other boy was still on the other side of the room, looking as though he hadn't the will to care anymore what Lazlo saw or didn't see. Lazlo's heart skipped a beat, his brows coming together in worry. Shaking his head, Lazlo stuck the needle into his skin and extracted his own spirit. Thyon was there in an instant, grabbing the syringe from him. On his face was an angry frown, the first bit of real emotion Lazlo had seen him express the entire time he'd been there. At least he wasn't totally gone yet.

"What are you doing?" Thyon asked Lazlo, still gripping the syringe tightly in his hand.

Lazlo rolled his sleeve back down and glared right back at Thyon Nero. "You're killing yourself," he said, his tone accusatory. 

The anger left Thyon's face, quickly being replaced with a cold lack of emotion. "So?" he replied, turning away. "What do you care?"

Lazlo's hand was on Thyon's before he even realized it, like a reflex. "I care," he said sternly.

Thyon Nero hesitated, letting himself _feel_ what it was like to have Lazlo's hand on his. How many times had he thought of this moment, though under different circumstances? Too many to count. His love for Lazlo Strange had snuck up on him and then consumed him, like a deceiving wave that pulls you under, keeping you from gathering your breath, drowning you. Lazlo Strange had drowned Thyon before he even knew it.

Thyon pulled his hand from Lazlo's touch and met his eyes again. "Why?" he found himself asking. And the question wasn't from a place of narcissism, but of a genuine curiosity. After all that Thyon Nero had done to Lazlo Strange, why would he ever _care_ about him?

Lazlo chuckled and shook his head at Thyon. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I guess, in a sense, I understand you. Better than you think. Because, even as an orphan, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Thyon, with a father like yours." Lazlo took a step forward, the distance between the two of them now infinitesimal. "He's not here, Thyon. He can't hurt you, he can't control you. Don't kill yourself for him."

"The citadel―" Thyon started, but Lazlo quirked a brow.

"Who cares?" Lazlo said.

"You care," Thyon told him. "Weep has been your dream since you were a child."

"And I'm here. I'm in Weep. My dream has already come true. As for the citadel, we'll find a way. But I won't let you kill yourself."

Thyon loosed a heavy breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With that breath, it felt as though he released all the weight that had been on his shoulders his entire life. His father wasn't here. His father couldn't control him. There would be another way to move the citadel. Thyon had to believe Lazlo's words, or else he would let himself die in this room.

A hand to his cheek startled him, but he didn't shun Lazlo's touch. Instead, Thyon leaned into it, his own hand coming up to wrap around Lazlo's. Neither of them consciously moved to close the breath of distance between their lips, but it was like a magnetic pull―they couldn't stop it. Thyon's lips were dry against Lazlo's, but he didn't mind. Eyes closed, chest to chest. This was all they'd really wanted. It didn't matter that they were in a skyless city. It didn't matter that Thyon was a prince and that Lazlo was an orphan. 

The golden boy and the boy with no name had finally found what they were looking for.

 


End file.
